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by JustAJ



Category: jacksepticeye
Genre: Angst, Insanity, JustAJack, Kinda, Memory Loss, Murder, dark themes, it’s a copy, this is the original- if you see it reposted anywhere, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-05-15 17:39:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAJ/pseuds/JustAJ
Summary: "Did you come for a story?""Yes.""You won't find one here. They all died with him.""But you seem to have a story yourself.""You won't find it interesting. My words pale in comparison to the world he build. But... I can try."Settle down and listen closely. I'll tell you how the last story died."





	1. The Start of it All

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot (?) fic that will have dark themes in it. Insanity, guilt, murder, blood, amnesia, etc. If this is not for you, I advise you to search up something...fluffy.  
> It is inspired by Jack’s playthrough (and ego hints) in his Stories Untold, Dark Silence, etc. Watch them first before you come here. Or- if you’re just here for a really twisted and dark fic, I welcome you to my little world of hurt and pain.  
> Buckle up and enjoy.  
> If it becomes too much for you- I seriously urge you to take a break when you need it. This is an insanely heavy fic to write, I have no doubts that this is just as heavy to read. **This fic is intense- step away when it gets to be too much.**
> 
> As of currently, this is a prologue for the story. It is not the entire story. I am not finished with this.

_ Look. I never intended for my actions to lead to this. I’ll be honest- this is my fault. All of it. I never meant for you to actually try and find me, to succeed, to… be dragged into this twisted… place. I never intended for this to happen at all. And I’m doing my best to fix it. Just...don’t do anything. Sit tight. You’re safer if you do nothing. Safer if you leave. Go- I can’t promise anything, but your chances of… surviving… are better. So just go and maybe… just maybe I won’t do anything that I’ll regret. _

* * *

The letter was crumpled, creases smearing the penciled-in words on the paper into a mess of grey lines. The handwriting was jagged and rough, rushed and jerky motions forcing the letters to become an unfamiliar shape on the pages… pages that were ripped up by the sharp point of the pencil. Had the writer of the letter been speaking, the words would have tumbled out and shattered to the floor. Useless shards and pale imitations of what the words should have been.  No one would have been listening anyway, the sounds tumbling and useless in the empty air.

With a mournful sigh, the letter fell to the floor. It wasn’t any use to listen anyway. Memories hit like a freight train- all at once in a kaleidoscope of colour and noise. Memories blurring into each other until the end of one became the start of another.

_ Someone screaming. _

_ Crying. _

_ Panic. _

_ Alarm bells ringing and ringing and ringing andringingandringi- _

_ Blood… so much blood. _

_ Crimson spreading on the floor, puddling under- _

__**no**  
  
It’s better to forget .

The letter was picked up with gentle hands. So many hands had touched this letter. 

Coffee ring stains and ink blots from various fingers and the occasional burn mark marred the edges of the slip of paper. 

She sighed again. Useless. This mad quest was all just so…

**Useless.**

Trying to reason with the insanity that plagued his mind was torturous. Trying to reason with _ him _ was worse. It was crazy and mad and delusional and so utterly and totally  **useless** .

But she was always one for adventure.


	2. Perfection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and the short update. >.<  
> I'm working on making them longer and also... figuring out how to add dialogue in with this new writing style... I've tried and it seems clunky so you're left with this.

He never seemed to realize how much she did for him. Reminded him when too many hours slipped away into the night. Helped cook meals when the last ingredient was on the tip of his tongue but never fell from his lips. Soothed him at night when shadows twisted into foreign shapes along the walls.  
No, he never really noticed the little things. But he loved her all the same. He loved the books lined up neatly along the walls, the soft scratch of her records playing, the joy that danced on her face when given a little gift. He loved her.  
She had a distinct air about her. She captured the wildflowers and wore their scent as a perfume. She stole the sunshine right out of the sky and used it for a smile. She carried herself in a very specific way- matronly without being too strict, loving without being too carefree, kind without being too gullible. She was called “Signe.” And she was perfect.  
So perfect that something was bound to go wrong.


End file.
